Road Trip (10 page)

“So it was your wife who knew Betsy? Did she meet her?” Mary Beth asked.

“No, they never actually met face-to-face. My wife was ill for a long time—congestive heart failure. She spent a lot of time working on crafts and reading about crafts. She was quite talented in her own way, especially with her scrapbooks and her knitting. Then she saw an article about Elizabeth Holden that had photos of some of her work. My wife was just enchanted with the pieces. She wanted so much to go to Maine and see some firsthand.” Mr. Harvester sighed and his eyes looked far away as if he were seeing some memory instead of the women in front of him.

“She couldn’t travel though, not by then,” he said. “So she wrote Elizabeth Holden a letter, telling her how seeing the photos of her work was like being transported into beautiful places.” Mr. Harvester leaned forward and looked intently at Annie then. “And your grandmother sent my dear sick wife one of her pieces in a lovely frame. The scene was of flowers in the spring.” Again his attention seemed to fade away from them, as if he were seeing the scene in front of him.

“My wife would have loved it,” he said sadly, “but by the time it arrived, she was gone. We’d been married for thirty years.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Annie said. “That must have been a terribly painful time.”

Mr. Harvester nodded. “At any rate, I wrote to your grandmother to thank her for her kindness. She wrote back. After that, it simply seemed normal to write to her every so often, just to tell her about things. She always answered, and her letters were so warm and lovely.” He smiled again. “I kept her letters and newspaper clippings about her work in a scrapbook of my own.

“I just felt like Elizabeth and I had a connection that only grew as the years passed. I began to think I would take time away from my company and go to Maine. I just knew we’d feel even more of a connection once we met. Then I learned of your grandmother’s death. It was a terrible shock.”

Annie nodded. “It was a shock to everyone.”

Mr. Harvester took off his glasses to wipe his eyes before he continued. “I went out of my head for a while and drank quite a lot.” He shook his head in dismay. “One cold winter night, I lit a fire in the fireplace and settled down in my favorite chair with … well, with a bottle. I’d neglected to set up the fire screen and a spark jumped out of the fireplace.”

“Oh no,” Mary Beth said.

Mr. Harvester nodded. “I’m still not sure how I made it out of the house, but nothing else did. I’d lost all my photographs of my dear wife. I’d lost everything we shared. And I’d lost my only piece of Elizabeth Holden’s work. I was very depressed for quite a long time.”

“I can imagine so,” Annie said gently.

“When I began to find my balance again, I somehow felt this need to replace the one thing I could replace. I haunted auction sites looking for any work done by your grandmother. Then I saw a magazine article about the newly discovered portrait, hidden in your grandmother’s attic. The photograph nearly took my breath away.” He turned to look at Stella. “You and my wife looked a great deal alike when you were young. It was almost like looking at a portrait of my darling when I first met her.”

He stopped speaking for a moment, and everyone at the table blinked away tears as he took a few deep breaths, cleared his throat and continued. “Well, as you know, I contacted you.” He smiled a bit ruefully at Annie. “I seem to have done a rather poor job of that. My wife was always the one who was good with people—so much like your grandmother.”

“Mr. Harvester,” Annie said. “I am so sorry for your loss, but that portrait is very important to my family. I couldn’t sell it to you.”

Mr. Harvester nodded. “I understand that. Please, forgive an old man for being foolish.”

Annie patted his hand. “There’s nothing to forgive. I understand perfectly.” Then she paused before continuing. “Mr. Harvester, I know that the Golden Needle Company is considering making needlepoint kits based on the portrait. I haven’t really decided about that, but if they do, you could probably hire someone to stitch the portrait kit for you. That isn’t the same, I know, but perhaps it would help.”

Mr. Harvester’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “You need to be careful, young lady,” he said. “I don’t trust that Mr. Gold or his company. It’s all just money to him.”

“Mr. Gold is just a representative of the company,” Annie said.

Mr. Harvester shook his head. “He’s a
Gold
. The family owns the company. I looked it up on the computer after I met him the other night. I didn’t trust him on sight. He was rude. And he just wants to exploit Elizabeth Holden’s work for his own gain. Don’t be fooled; money for the company is money for his pocket.”

“I’ve known Carlton Gold for several years,” Mary Beth said. “I’ve never seen him be rude to anyone.”

Mr. Harvester sniffed, clearly dismissing Mary Beth’s opinion.

“We would hardly expect the Golden Needle Company to be a charity,” Stella added sternly. “Of course they are going to do what is profitable for the company.”

Mr. Harvester’s mustache twitched. “I don’t trust him. That’s all I’m saying, and you shouldn’t trust him either. Also, there’s something else you may not know. Mr. Gold is the one who reported the murder in the first place. How did he even know about it, unless he’s the killer?” At that, he stood quickly and stormed away.

“What an ill-tempered man,” Stella said.

“He is strange, but so sad,” Annie said. “I suppose I can understand how he ended up so focused on my grandmother.”

“It
is
sad,” Mary Beth agreed, “but I wonder how he knew who reported the murder?”

“I imagine he’s nosy,” Stella said. “He seems the type.”

“I think he’s a little creepy,” Kate said. When everyone turned to look at her, she blushed. “He seems obsessive and maybe a little delusional. I know he’s been through a lot, but I still think he’s a little scary. I’m glad he’s not fixated on me.”

“He’s definitely scary enough to keep on the suspect list,” Stella said. “And high up on the list!”

11

As they finished up lunch, Stella began assigning tasks. “Something Mr. Harvester said made me realize we need more information ourselves,” she said. “I believe our first step is to use one of the public computers here at the convention to find out all we can about our main suspects.”

“What suspects?” Mary Beth said.

“Mr. Harvester, Mr. Gold,” Stella responded, “the young woman Annie met—you have the young woman’s name?”

Annie nodded. “But I really don’t think she’s a suspect.”

“I don’t see how we can rule anyone out at this point,” Stella said. “We should also find out about the victim himself.”

“Stella, I believe the police can handle this just fine,” Mary Beth said. “We’re here to enjoy the convention. And I don’t think Detective Matthews would like having us meddle.”

“This is not meddling,” Stella said firmly. “What if Kate is correct, and the detective really does suspect us? Should we simply go blithely on to workshops and speaker events until he decides to arrest one of us?”

“I don’t think the police just arrest people for no reason,” Annie said.

Stella sniffed. “The police care about closing cases as quickly as possible. If he has decided we’re guilty, we need to be able to prove we’re innocent.”

“Oh, Stella,” Mary Beth said, shaking her head. “I think I liked it better when you thought mysteries were beneath you.”

Stella looked at her in surprise. “I never thought that. I do think some of the business of poking into the private lives of Stony Point citizens is intrusive—”

“But you want us to poke into people’s lives now,” Mary Beth said.

“I merely suggested we use the computer,” Stella said. “If the information is online, it’s hardly private.”

Mary Beth gave up then. Annie couldn’t think of any further argument either. Stella had a point. Whatever they found online would be public information.

“Well, we should get it over with then,” Mary Beth said. “I am
not
missing the master’s class this afternoon.”

“I really need to speak to Detective Matthews,” Annie said. “He’s the actual detective here, and I want to be certain he knows about Cat Reed.”

Everyone agreed, though Stella said, “Still, you should wait until after our computer search. There may be even more to tell him then.”

“OK,” Annie said reluctantly. “But I’m going to call him
immediately
after.”

They paid the check at the restaurant quickly and headed to the front desk to ask about public computers since none of them had packed a laptop. The young woman behind the desk gave them directions to the small bank of computers. Luckily, no one was using any of them. After a quick discussion, they appointed Mary Beth in charge of the search as she spent the most time online of any of them.

“I hardly get any time on our computer,” Kate admitted. “Vanessa uses it for homework, Facebook, and Twitter. I think the only thing she uses more is her cellphone.”

“The life of the American teen,” Annie said. “I am glad LeeAnn was still part of the generation that tied up the phone when she wasn’t haunting the mall. I’d be scared to death if she was online all the time.”

“I keep a pretty close watch on it all,” Kate said, “but Vanessa is far more level-headed than I was at her age.”

Then their attention was drawn by Mary Beth. “I found Mr. Harvester,” she said. “He apparently owns an office equipment supply company. The main office appears to be in Dallas. See, that’s him.” She pointed at a picture of the portly man in the bristly mustache beside a large storefront. “According to this site, there are several other stores in the Southwest.”

“No wonder he took so long to make a trip to Maine,” Kate said. “That’s a long trip—as we certainly know.”

“Unless you fly,” Mary Beth said.

“Then it’s just expensive,” Kate said. “Though if he owns a chain of stores, he could be fairly well off.”

“Or in a great deal of debt,” Stella said. “Ownership does not imply success these days.”

Mary Beth clicked back to the search engine and scanned a few other sites. The links were mostly newspapers located close to each of the business locations, and the articles were generally promotional pieces for the company. “Nothing really personal here,” Mary Beth said.

“OK, try Mr. Gold,” Stella urged her.

They soon found that a wealth of information. Mary Beth found several promotional pieces about the Golden Needle Company that included photographs of the Gold family. In one, they stood in front of the company offices in Ohio, and Annie could see a strong family resemblance in all of them. They all had the same coloring and willowy build, and most wore glasses. There were also a number of press releases about the company that included Carlton Gold as the author.

“Apparently he’s very involved in maintaining the company’s image,” Stella said.

“Which hardly suggests he has any nefarious plans for Betsy’s work,” Mary Beth said. “We knew that the Golden Needle Company was interested in licensing more kits from her work.”

“It suggests he puts a lot of energy in making the company look good,” Stella said. “And having Betsy’s work stolen would definitely make the company look bad.”

“So he killed someone over it?” Mary Beth said. “Do you know how crazy that sounds?”

“Murder is a crazy business,” Stella said melodramatically. “But I agree that we should move on for now. Look for the young woman Annie met.”

Mary Beth’s search brought up a host of sites. Apparently there was an author by the same name as well as an insurance adjustor, an intern at an aquarium in Canada, a hospice volunteer, a flutist, and a swimsuit model. None of the links seemed to be related to the young woman Annie had met. “Apparently she has never done anything to end up online,” Mary Beth finally said.

The search for information on Max Lessing was no more impressive. They found an very old court record pertaining to the arrest Cat had told Annie about. “Well, there is nothing in the record about violence,” Mary Beth said. “And there is nothing more recent.”

“I don’t know that we learned much from any of this,” Annie said. “I need to call Detective Matthews and tell him about Cat.”

“And I believe Mary Beth and I need to track down Mr. Gold,” Stella said.

“Why me?” Mary Beth said.

“Because you know him best,” Stella said simply. “He’s most likely to tell you exactly what happened this morning.”

“OK, if we can find him quickly,” Mary Beth said. “I’m not missing that master’s class.”

Annie pulled out her cellphone but saw she only had one bar. “Oh, my cell service doesn’t seem very good here,” she said.

“Could be all the walls in this alcove,” Mary Beth suggested. “Why don’t you try walking outside?”

“Good idea,” Annie said.

“I’ll walk with you,” Kate offered. “I could use a little fresh air. This is all kind of overwhelming.”

They walked across the wide lobby and out the bank of glass doors. A faint whiff of cigarette tobacco hung in the air where smokers had grabbed a last few puffs before heading inside. Annie carried her phone to a stone bench that edged the walk on one side.

“I have a good signal here,” she said as she slipped her hand into her sweater pocket. “Oh no! I forgot that I gave my card to Cat. Do you still have the card that the detective gave you?”

Kate nodded and rooted around in her purse. Finally she handed it over.

“Oh, he wrote his cell number on it,” Annie said. “He didn’t write that on mine. Do you think I should try the cellphone in case he’s still around here somewhere and not in his office?”

“Good thinking.” Kate looked down at the card and frowned. “Why do you think he wrote his cell number just on my card?”

“Because he
likes
you,” Annie said. “Really, I think that’s it.”

Kate was still shaking her head as Annie punched in the number from the card. As it rang, she caught sight of movement at the end of the walk near the entrance to the parking garage. When she turned toward it, she saw Cat Reed standing and fidgeting.

“Oh, there’s Cat,” Annie said. Then she frowned as the detective’s phone rolled over to voice mail. Sighing, she left a brief message asking the detective to call her. “I suppose I could just walk down and ask her if she called the detective.”

“Couldn’t hurt,” Kate said.

They both stood and headed down the sidewalk. A dark SUV pulled up next to Cat, and the driver’s door flew open. Someone stepped out, but the door blocked much of the person. Annie thought it was a man.

“I wonder if that’s her brother,” Annie said; then she paused. She wasn’t sure she should intervene.

Cat began gesturing emphatically at the person from the vehicle. Then the driver opened the rear door and grabbed Cat, practically shoving her into the backseat.

“That doesn’t look very brotherly,” Kate said.

“No, it doesn’t,” Annie agreed as she began walking quickly toward the SUV. “Hey, wait a second!” she yelled.

The driver turned toward them, but again the open door made it hard to see much beyond the person being a tall man with dark hair. Annie picked up her pace until she was running. The driver jumped into the vehicle and had driven away before Annie reached them. Though the SUV moved quickly, Annie caught a bit of the license plate.

She recited the numbers to herself as she rooted in her bag for paper and pen. Kate waited silently beside her. When Annie scribbled the number down, she looked at Kate. “That looked like an abduction to me,” she said.

Kate nodded. “You should call the detective again.”

“I just got his voice mail.” She looked back toward the hotel. “Maybe he’s still inside. If he is, he might not be able to get a signal. We should check at the desk and see if they know. Then we could tell him directly.”

They headed into the hotel and crossed to the front desk. “Could you tell me if Detective Matthews is still here?” she asked.

The clerk looked surprised and answered in a whisper. “I haven’t seen him leave. We’re not supposed to talk about the … incident.”

Annie nodded. “That’s OK. I just need to find the detective.”

She and Kate turned and headed toward the convention halls. Annie decided to start at the exhibit room and work outward looking for him. Hopefully, they would either run into him, or he’d call Annie back.

First, they ran into Mary Beth and Stella, who stood talking to Carlton Gold. As they walked up, they heard Mr. Gold say, “It was the most horrifying thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Did you know the man was dead?” Mary Beth asked.

“No, not at first,” Mr. Gold said, dropping his voice. “I thought maybe he was sick or something. I rushed over and started to roll him over. That’s when you can tell right away that he’s not just unconscious.” Mr. Gold shuddered. “I know I’m going to have nightmares for weeks.”

“It must have been a terrible shock,” Mary Beth said.

“It was. I tried to do CPR, of course. You have to even if the person is … well, pretty obviously dead. When I took CPR, they said you should. You never know. I mean, the air conditioning here is so cold.” Mr. Gold shrugged, and then looked stricken again. “It was horrible and didn’t do any good, of course.”

“So you called for help?” Stella said.

“I did that even before I started CPR. I punched 911 and put it on speakerphone, and then I went right to work. I had to talk to the person on the phone while I did the compressions. It was just like something you’d see on television, only there was
no
happy ending.”

“Did you recognize the man?” Stella asked.

Mr. Gold shook his head. “I figured he must be one of the vendors.”

“Why is that?” Annie asked.

“He had a tag,” Mr. Gold pointed at his own name tag.

Annie saw right away that his name tag was different from the one she had gotten at registration. The one she wore had a blue stripe across the top. Mr. Gold’s tag had a red stripe. “Did his have a red stripe like yours?” Annie asked.

“Oh no—that’s just for people associated with the convention,” he said. “Mostly volunteers. We get red. The regular attendees get blue, and the vendors get green. I remember clearly that the man’s tag was green.”

“That’s very observant of you,” Stella said.

Mr. Gold shrugged. “If you work with promotion, you pay attention to details. At any rate, that’s probably why no one stopped him from wandering around the convention area in the middle of the night. Vendor access ran until after eleven o’clock last night.”

“And why were you in the room so early?” Stella asked.

“Nervous fretting,” Mr. Gold said. “Those things are very valuable and completely irreplaceable. Security here isn’t exactly impressive, so I managed to worry myself right out of any chance at sleep. I came down to check on everything, because I thought that seeing it all safe and sound would help me stop worrying. Then I was going to try to catch a short nap before everything started today. That didn’t happen, of course.”

“I know the things are valuable to
me
and my family,” Annie said. “And I know there was a kind of rush right after Gram passed away, but surely that’s not the case anymore.”

“If anything, the value has grown,” Mr. Gold said. “That little display is worth many thousands of dollars. The large portrait alone … I couldn’t imagine what that would sell for.”

“How could anyone sell it?” Mary Beth asked. “Once it was stolen, you couldn’t exactly convince a buyer that you came by it honestly. You couldn’t take it to Sotheby’s or anything like that.”

“No, selling something like that would have to be very under-the-table,” Mr. Gold said. “A thief would really have to already know who would want it.”

“How would he know that?” Annie asked.

Mr. Gold shrugged. “Maybe he was some kind of art thief. Though you would expect a cat burglar to look more mysterious and successful. I mean, the man needed a shave, and he was wearing department-store jeans!”

Mary Beth thanked Mr. Gold for talking to them. “I really have to run now,” she said. “The masters’ classes start in a couple minutes.”

“I’ll go with you,” Stella said.

“But Cat could have been kidnapped, and God only knows where she is and what is happening to her!” Annie exclaimed. “I still need to find Detective Matthews!”